


Artist

by webeta123



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Contemplation, Fluff, M/M, bad artist Remus, sleepy Severus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webeta123/pseuds/webeta123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus knew that his artistic skills only went so far. </p>
<p>But sometimes he wished they went farther.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artist

Remus Lupin would never pretend that he was an artist by any stretch of the imagination. He couldn’t draw a simple circle without that embarrassing squiggle that somehow came from the end curve and tried to attach to the beginning. He couldn’t write beautiful sonnets as though they were the simplest of things to do. His singing voice had been compared to… well, apparently it wasn’t bad but it wasn’t Top 40 good either. 

But, there were times that he wished he was. He wished he could take photographs that truly portrayed the emotions of the person who was being photographed. Scarily enough, it was not a variety of people, just one person who often caught his eye, whether he meant to or not. 

Severus Snape was in no way a conventionally handsome man. His sharp angles and thin lines refused him of that right. Adding into the fact that he seemed to never care about his personal hygiene, most would find him not even remotely appealing. However, Remus occasionally caught a glimpse of a different type of Severus, one that was not terrifying or undesirable. 

Like now for instance. They were in between battles and Remus had needed to discuss with the local Potions Master when he could pick up his Wolfsbane. He had been told by Molly that Severus had locked himself away in one of the smaller sitting rooms of Grimmauld Place with a large tome over various topics that she had apparently not been able to catch. So, the werewolf had gone to find this sitting room and was greeted with a sight that made him want to be that artist. 

Severus sat in the corner of the couch, his shoes having fallen with one over the other and legs brought up to rest against the couch cushion beside him. Remus had to chuckle at the fact that he wore black dress socks rather than holey grey ones like some expected. The man’s robes were wrinkled around his knees and his hips thanks to his position and the tome was left open on a page that seemed to be completely in Latin. The book was balanced between his thigh and calf and one boney hand still held it in place, albeit loosely.

Then he was brought to Severus’s face. He was in profile, the left side of his face pressed into the side cushion of the couch and his other arm was thrown over the back, as if that was the only way he could support himself in an upright position. His mouth was just barely open, thin lips that were just barely hiding white teeth. His hair fell in waves across his cheek and over his ear, one resilient strand falling over his hawk-like nose and into the corner of his closed eye. He steadily breathed, chest moving in sync with this and the hand that before held his book moved up to rest just above his lip, the book falling just barely and resting against the other couch cushion. 

Remus stood there for a few moments, shocked that he would ever be… blessed? Was that the right word for this scenario? Perhaps lucky would be better for such a time. Both of them had already gone through a war and the next was right at their fingertips. He would never admit that he had sometimes imagined what it would be like to be with the usually very Slytherin-esque man, but now was not the time for such thoughts. Perhaps later, over a pint or something that would not feel quite so life-threatening. He wondered if the man actually drank or not. He chuckled softly to himself and went into the room, catching the large tome and closing it as gently as he could so that he would not wake the man up. He set it on the side table that held a cup that smelled suspiciously like Calming Potion and took one of the folded red blankets that was over the back of the couch before unfolding it and placing it over the sleeping Potion Master’s frame. 

He would never see himself on a column of Witch Weekly for the Top 40 hits. He would never have any of his half-arsed drawings in any museums and he could barely do a simple waltz. But still, the image of Severus Snape curled up under a definitely Gryffindor blanket and a small smirk that could count as a smile if he really looked on his face would stay in his memory for as long as it would like to be there. And it was very happy to be there.


End file.
